


We Will Be Free

by Crimson_Voltaire



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mild Blood, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 06:38:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson_Voltaire/pseuds/Crimson_Voltaire
Summary: Grindelwald presses the tip of the wand to Graves temple, “Do not fight, Mr. Graves. It will only hurt you. I do not want to hurt you.”Graves fights.And it hurts.And he loses.





	We Will Be Free

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd as always. All mistakes are my own.

**We Will Be Free**

* * *

 

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Graves,” Grindelwald says, a tiny frown growing between his thin blond brows, “But if you are not willing to cooperate, it must be done.”

His fingers brush the side of Graves’ temple, gentle like a lover’s touch. Graves tries to jerk his head away, to turn so he can sink his teeth into Grindelwald’s flesh but the man yanks his hand back as quick as a flash. Those mismatched eyes grow hard for half a second before softening again. Grindelwald sighs,

“Please, do not make this any harder than it has to be, Mr. Graves. I do not enjoy hurting you.”

Something similar to amusement, but gnarled and bitter bubbles up in Graves’ chest, bursting forth from his lips like a thunderclap.

“You don’t? I thought sick fucks like you got off on that sort of thing. You slaughtered an entire town, Grindelwald.”

Graves needles at his captor, damn the consequences, testing the ice to see where it’s thinnest. If he can get a reaction, Grindelwald may falter. But the blond doesn’t take the bait, remaining impassive.

“A mistake, I assure you. It won’t happen again. Now, if you please, Mr. Graves.”

A fine hand reaches towards Percival again. He takes the opportunity given. [Grindelwald, for whatever reason doesn’t see it coming] Percival strikes like a viper, teeth sinking into Grindelwald’s hand, jaw clamping so tightly he draws blood. The German inhales sharply, tugging his hand back once more, cursing softly when Graves doesn’t let go. Only the force of a fist against the side of his face rattles the Director enough to release the hand. He spits out the blood welling from a sliced cheek and probes at the molar that’s just been loosened, grimacing.

Grindelwald is scowling at him now, drawing his left hand over his right to heal the wounds. Percival watches on in grim satisfaction, enjoying the injury while he can. When the wounds are gone, Grindelwald reaches forward again, slowly, energy crackling around his fingertips in a vaguely disguised threat. Grindelwald hooks a finger under Graves’ jaw and whispers spell which has the split in his cheek knitting together and his gums taking a firmer hold on his teeth. As the magic shivers over him, Graves snarls, pulling his lips back from his incisors. He doesn’t bite though, he’s smart enough not to try that again. At least, not now. Graves instead stares up into those ugly eyes.

“I’m very sorry,” Grindelwald repeats, “I really do not wish to hurt you, Mr. Graves, but if you are not going to return the favour I do not really have a choice.”

The blond moves slowly now, deliberately, producing a wand from his stolen jacket pocket. It’s long and knotted, quite hideous really, but there’s a power to it which Graves can feel, even without touching it. Pulsing, thrumming, hovering beneath the surface and demanding to be out. Graves’ attentions flickers between the wand and it’s master, and although he keeps his expression cool, Grindelwald must see the shock in his eyes.

“The Elder wand. It is beautiful, no? Extremely powerful. I would love to see what a wizard of your caliber could do with it, Mr. Graves,” Grindelwald whispers, thumb coming up to stroke at Graves’ cheek, “But unfortunately, I do not have the time.”

He presses the tip of the wand to Graves temple, “Do not fight, Mr. Graves. It will only hurt you. I do not want to hurt you.”

Graves fights.

And it hurts.

And he loses.

Memories flood to the surface, pulled from his temple by the wand. He fights, throwing up every defence he knows, trying desperately to block out the wand’s call. But it’s no use, even with Percival’s occlumency; his thoughts and feelings and interpretations from all moments of his existence well up like blood in a wound. Grindelwald draws them out, one by one, makes copies of each and storing them in small vials. Graves roars out, anger burning, jerking violently, and locks the latches down tight on one aspect of his life. The wand keeps searching. A searing pain erupts across his temples, like someone has driven a red hot poker straight through his brain.

“No, no, please,” the Director finds himself begging, tears stinging at his eyes, as the memories are found and ripped out.

“Stop! Stop!”

_Suddenly, Percival is twenty one again, caught up in the way the wind tears around them on the cliffs, the vivid green of the hills and the dreary grey of the rock face, the way thunder rumbles in off the sea. He remembers the weight of the ring in his pocket, the rabbiting of his heart in his chest, the way she looked at him. Bright grey eyes and dark black hair, blown out behind her by the sea - she was a wraith on the foggy shore, eerie and so very beautiful. He remembers her scent, soft and floral, the way she felt in his arms when he held her, the way she laughed on those cliffs._

_He remembers a tiny cry, a little babe cradled in his forearm. Remembers the wonder and joy which battled with the marrow deep grief of losing his bride. There’s the memory of fear, of finding his baby boy sprawled on the ground, sobbing as the other little boys run away. There’s the memory of pride, watching that child become a man, watching him flourish_ -

the wand shrieks and jolts away suddenly, and Percival’s memories now very loud in his head, his alone. He recoils, bringing his hands to his head, clutching at his temples.

“I did not know,” Grindelwald says, and it sounds like an apology, “My resources did not tell me you had a child.”

Incredulousness blooms in Graves’s chest and he laughs, cringing a little at how hysterical it sounds. His laughter is tinged with panic though, sitting bitter on his tongue. Grindelwald knows where he is, knows how to get to him. _My son is in danger_.

“If you touch him,” Graves warns, voice ragged, “If you lay a finger on him I will kill you. I will skin you alive and burn what’s left of your miserable body at the stake. I will dance around your pyre.”

_My baby is in danger - my child is in danger_ -

Grindelwald interrupts his thoughts by holding up a hand, mismatched eyes growing impossibly sad for a moment. Graves bares his teeth again, instincts still running hot. He’s waiting for something, Graves thinks, waiting for Grindelwald to turn. But Grindelwald doesn’t and the sadness doesn’t leave either.

“I may have done some terrible things, Mr. Graves, I may do many more terrible things, but I will not harm your child.”

_**Liar** _

Graves wrenches at his bonds, magic flaring violently against them in a show of white sparks. Grindelwald sits back in his chair, pale, pudgy face pinching a little in surprise.

“How the hell do you think I’m going to believe you when you’re hunting down a kid in New York?” Graves roars and then slumps back, glaring but subdued. Those white sparks peter out about his hands, the metal cuffs absorbing the energy he creates.

“An obscurus, Mr. Graves,” Grindelwald admonishes, I am looking for an obscurus. The child is already dying. It is unfortunate, sometimes sacrifices must be made.” He sounds resigned, like there’s no other option but this.

“You’re mad, Grindelwald,” Graves spits.

In lieu of a proper answer, Grindelwald merely shrugs, running a hand through the obsidian of his hostage’s head. For whatever reason, the man seems to enjoy stroking Graves’ hair. Perhaps he thinks he’ll win Percival over with soft touches and gentle promises, like Graves doesn’t know what he’s capable of, like Graves hasn’t wiped what’s left of his victims up off the walls.

“Perhaps,” Grindelwald murmurs finally, “Perhaps I am mad. But I know this, Mr. Graves, we are dying beneath the Statute. This law, that you try so desperately to uphold, allows for the atrocities your son faced to happen. It allows an obscurial to form in our modern world. If we were free, if we were in our rightful place, there would be no more of this. No more hiding our potential, no more shadowing children away.”

He strokes his thumb over Graves’ lips, eyes boring holes into the Director, confident Graves will not bite again [he’s right].

“Your child would not have to hide who he is from muggles. You would not have to live in fear. We would all be better.”

Graves snorts, inclining his head and closing his eyes, trying to drown Grindelwald out. He will not be swayed by a spider’s promise. The man releases his face, sighing again.

“You will see, Mr. Graves, you will see. We have lived in the shadows far too long. I will set us free.”

The world is silent for a brief moment, the only sound the thundering of Graves’ blood in his ears. Then, the quiet is broken as Grindelwald stands and murmurs the transfiguration spell. Percival opens his eyes to watch as the flesh crawls around Grindelwald’s face and rearranges itself. His hair darkens, eyes becoming one colour, face changing until he is no longer Grindelwald but Percival Graves. The imposter cards a hand through the real Graves’ hair once more, stooping to press a kiss to his forehead before turning to leave.

“We will all be free,” is the last thing Graves hears before the man disapparates away.

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really don’t want Grindelwald played off as some unhinged, torture obsessed monster. He’s so much more complex than that. Apologies on any inaccuracies, I fly by the seat of may pants when it comes to magical theory.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Comments and kudos are appreciated.


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